Scotland - show us how it's done!

A Nation decides

If there's one thing I like to be, it's unique.  Yes - cutting edge. niche.  Yep, that's me.  So here's a blog on the Scottish referendum...

Ok, ok, so this is going to be just one more chirrup emitting from a spring meadow full of rutting Crickets.  I realise that.  However, this is also a subject I feel passionately about.  I may be English born and bred, but I very strongly believe that Scotland should vote for independence.

Am I alone in taking this position?  Hardly.  But there do seem to be a lot of English people I know (can't move for 'em!) that seem to be taking the existence of the referendum as a personal slur.  In a "how dare they not want to be British like me.  What's wrong with me?"

First of all, have you seen our government?  The fear we seem to have about our identity that makes us paranoid that the Scottish don't want to be our friends any more is displayed in our voting.  It's led by fear all the way.

We voted the Tories in to power, despite them only representing the "1%".  Very much the nasty party they are slashing benefits and privatising off our public services.  In opposition is Labour, a party created by the workers, who only continue to vote for them because the alternative is the Tories.  And the party of opposition?  UKIP.  The definitive party of fear itself.

Fear has also griped the referendum in Scotland, perpetuated by the NO campaign.  Their arguments for Scotland to remain in the union is mostly centred around what currency could be used, which at it's root is essentially going "do you want the Euro??"

Talk of how much money Scotland gets in subsidies is also an issue.  It's true that the Barnett Formula (look it up if you want your head scrambled) is unfairly in Scotland's favour over other countries in the UK.  However, the simple fact is that at current rates, oil and gas revenues which would be in Scotland's hands mean that they would be better off financially per head of population compared to staying as part of the UK.

This is, genuinely, the best people they've got.

Not all arguments for the NO campaign are as base as this.  I heard a Scottish University Professor on Radio 4 this afternoon explaining that he would be voting to stay as part of the Union because he felt he had as much in common with people in England and Wales as he did with people in Scotland.

This is fair enough.  An intelligent person explaining simply that he doesn't believe in Nationalism.  I feel exactly the same, but then I also feel the same connection with working people in France, America, India... basically the world over.

The truth is, whilst it may be the motivation for some, this vote is too important to just be about national identity or receiving a slight increase in public spending.

The reason the Scottish should vote for independence is that the system they would have would be so much better.  The system of Proportional Representation is more democratic for a start.  But better than that, the Tories are only the third party, it is dominated by the SNP (who are a social democratic party) and Scottish Labour.

Since devolution, the Labour party in Scotland have been much more left wing than in the rest of Britain precisely because their opposition has been the SNP rather than the Tories.  What powers they have had has been put to much better use than what the parties in the rest of the UK have managed to do.

The world we live in means this couldn't be a perfect system, but it could be so much better.  An alternative to the slash and burn austerity that the Tories favour so much.  It's not without merit that Alex Salmond suggests that the NHS would be safer in an independent Scotland than left to the UK government.

I fear that the NO campaign will win because undecided voters when faced with a choice will go with what seems like the safer, more conservative option.  But my God I hope they make the strong choice.

Vote for independence and show us in the rest of the UK what can be done in a world where the Tories are barely relevant.  This will only happen if they choose to reject the politics of fear.  Hopefully, we might be able to follow their example and do the same.

YES!!!

"You could actually hear the snap..."

My accident as I remember it

At the time of writing I currently have a good friend waiting in hospital to get pins removed from her ankle which she broke a while ago, which reminds me of the time I broke my leg and had my last stay in hospital.

For my friend it was during a practice session with her Roller Derby team.  If you've not seen roller derby it is a fiercely competitive roller skating team sport, which at no time have I ever jokingly referred to as "Lesbians on casters".

The accident, on all accounts, happened because a team member performing an action sloppily during the practice, causing her to fall awkwardly.  There is a similarity in my tale in that my accident happened whilst playing football, but dissimilar in that it was entirely my fault.

I should point out that this was five-a-side, not a proper team set-up.  No football team would have me.  In fact when I was young and had hair (yes, that was a very, very long time ago), I was referred to as "David Beckham's evil twin", in that I had bleached blond hair in a centre parting, but had zero ability on the ball.  Passing, dribbling, shooting, I was terrible at them all.

I'm such the opposite to David Beckham in fact that my girlfriend can actually sing.  That's how dissimilar we are!

During play, after being let out of goal momentarily (my natural position due to my flair of taking up space) I went in to a tackle.  Standing on the ball I tripped over and my foot was stuck planted in a standing position whilst my entire weight sent my body over.

You could actually hear the snap.  Closely followed by the sucking of air through the teeth of the other players and sounds which were a mixture of sympathy and nausea.

One of my friends said "don't worry, it's probably just a strain."  Looking down my leg was at a right angle starting just above my ankle.  Needless to say, he wasn't a trained medic.

999 was called, and I was told an ambulance was on it's way.  Now, I can't remember exactly how long it took, but it was a while.  Yes, I was in pain, but I was going to live so I wasn't a  priority. 

It didn't help with the wait in that the five-a-side court was in Moss Side.  Every time we heard a siren we thought it was for me, but no, that's just the soundtrack to the area.  In fact the wait was that long that the guys who had booked the court after us, after initially showing sympathy for my cause, decided to just play round me.

Eventually of course an ambulance did come to scoop me off the floor, and gas and air were administered.  This is probably the only time in my life that I recall experiencing a Hollywood film style drug experience.

It killed the pain which was lovely, but whenever I talked my voice in my head sounded like it was intensely deep.  I kept asking the paramedics if my voice sounded weird, and they kept saying no, in a tone that suggested they thought I was weird.

Talking of drug experiences I was given morphine in the hospital.  Now, many people I know think this was great, but all I remember was feeling a bit fuzzy, not having the attention span to read, and not having a shit for a week.  Is this what powered the counter-culture in the 1960's, freedom from defecating??

In hospital, doped up

I stayed in hospital for 6 days whilst I had an operation to put a nail through my tibia, which is the larger of the two bones going from your knee to your ankle.

The support I received was very welcome.  Friends came to visit me bringing DVDs, books and sweets, and my Mum took time off work especially to come up and look after me.

Staying at my flat whilst I remained in hospital she inevitably cleaned every inch of the place.  Visiting one day she explained that she'd sorted through all my unpacked boxes of CDs and DVDs and did note that she'd found one or two "adult" videos, but that's fine because I'm an adult now.

This is the sort of news that makes your spine itch from embarrassment, so I should be thankful that I was doped up at the time.

Once out of hospital my Mum gave me a guided tour of my own home to explain where everything was now.  This included the set of shelves in my room (note - before I went in hospital, I didn't own a set of shelves).  On display were all my books, CDs and DVDs, all neat, tidy and in correct order.

I was somewhat surprised to notice on one DVD spine what looked like the act of fellatio.  I shouldn't have been, of course, because that's exactly what it was.  That's right, my Mum had put my porn collection out with the rest of the videos.

Whilst intensely embarrassing, at least I could appreciate the humour that my anal DVDs were now in alphabetical order.  Humour is the best medicine, I suppose.

Rotherham, and why we shouldn't listen to the racists.

So what next for this stand-up comedians lighted hearted blog posts?  A post about the Rotherham recent child abuse scandal?  Well, that is bound to be a wheeze.  Ho, ho, ho, strap in comedy lovers...

Well, maybe not.  Yes, I am covering that subject, but I must admit that a report uncovering the sexual exploitation and abuse of over 1400 children in Rotheram isn't exactly a giggle fest.  Still, as with any major news story, there are plenty of contradictions at play.

First was watching the BBC news two mornings ago which included an interview with the group "Parents Against Child Sexual Exploitation".  It twisted my mind as to why such a group existed.  After all, who would be against that group?

The other issue is the groups name.  Why "parents" against child sexual exploitation and not just "people"?  I don't have children myself, but does that mean they think I would be in some way neutral on the issue?  Would I be expected to complain to the BBC, demanding to know why they hadn't invited on a pro-paedophile spokesperson to provide balance?  No, I will be happily maintaining my license fee payments for the foreseeable future.

Of course a big issue with this case is the impact of race and racism, as the perpetrators here were mostly men from a Pakistani background.  With the ongoing rumblings of Investigation Yewtree turning up historical abuse cases involving mostly white male celebrities, you might be fooled in to thinking that overall race isn't really a factor.  But that's not going to hold the right wing press back.

Reading The Sun on Thursday, unsurprisingly, warmed my urine to a rolling boil.  A particular highlight being columnist Trevor Kavanagh's take on the issue, where he blames:

'mostly white, mostly Labour politicians and police... (who) represent a political class, backed by the BBC, who waved in millions of migrants during 13 years of Labour government under the discredited flag of multiculturalism.  Their avowed objective was to change the face of Britain which they deemed to be "too white"'

Of course!!  How stupid of me not to realise that the problem all along was caused by Labour, the BBC and multiculturalism!  Case solved, thanks Trev.

Aside from rantings by columnists such as Kavangh, the general argument is that the police in Rotherham, backed by Labour, didn't investigate the claims out of a fear of being seen as racist.  It would be easy to write off this argument as barking mad, because it is.  For a start, the police not wanting to be racist???  My, my, how times change.

Scarily though, you cannot just ignore this argument, because it is one that is seated well and truly in the mainstream.  The Sun are not alone in turning this horrific story about child abuse in to one for their own agenda attacking Labour and multiculturalism.

In reality, the real problem in this case is precisely the same problem as there was in the case against Jimmy Saville.  Victims and their families were blamed for the abuse, and ignored.

£60k salary v. honour.  Salary wins!

Police in Rotherham ignored the complaints because they saw the girls as complicit in their own abuse.  "If you hang around with that kind of crowd, what do you expect to happen", was their position.  In reality, where girls in any way "chose" to spend time with their abusers, that was as a result of grooming.  That's how it works, and that is why there is an age of consent.  They are children, not consenting adults, and they need protecting.

Perhaps there is some cultural aspect as to why a minority of Pakistani men thought it was acceptable to abuse young girls (and not exclusively white girls either, like the media often suggests).  But then, there is a cultural explanation as to why older white celebrities thought it was ok to do exactly the same.

As much as I mocked the name of "Parents Against Child Sexual Exploitation" before, one thing you can say is that they don't make any issue of race.  They, and anyone who is genuinely concerned with helping put a stop to child abuse in this way, say that the real issue is to put a stop to victim blaming, and for the police to take complaints seriously.

The Edinburgh Festival Experience

6am at the Edinburgh festival

In my opinion Edinburgh is one of the most beautiful cities in the UK.  I say the UK, that could well change with the referendum in September of course.  Can the Scottish really turn down the chance to never have Tories rule them again?  I know I couldn't.

Part of the Union or not it’s a city that drips with beautiful architecture and culture.  But it’s also a challenge.  I have never visited somewhere before where you could walk for hours and always appear to be going uphill.  I'm not used to following directions to get to a destination and find that a left turn is impossible because the road I want is actually underneath the road I am on.  It is like Edinburgh was designed by two people, then they just stuck one map on top of the other and got on with it.

But in other ways Edinburgh really helps pack in the experience for you.  Have you ever been somewhere and wondered what it would look like at other times of the year, what impact the other seasons would have on the landscape?  Well that’s not a problem with Edinburgh because you will get the weather of every single season in just one day!

Being a child #1 - Haggis, neeps and titties

All this is exacerbated during the Fringe, as you have to traipse around the venues all day throughout the City centre (and as far as Leith and Haymarket to see shows by people conned in to thinking they had been booked in to a workable venue).  Outside weather ranging from downpours to heat waves just minutes apart, then into rooms which are stuffy and airless.  Make no mistake, during the biggest arts festival in the world, condensation is King.

The rooms for the shows themselves rarely help.  There are a number of spaces I have seen shows that are considered great rooms, but outside of Edinburgh the thought of putting on a show in these places would be considered mad.

Last year I did a solo stand up show for a week at 1am on the top deck of a bus.  No, really.  Only in Edinburgh would they spray paint a bus, park it in a courtyard, and call it a venue.  But, and this is the kicker, as Edinburgh festival venues go, this was pretty good!  Even at that stupid time I managed to fill it each night.  Yes, my face on posters can fill buses – now there’s an odd boast!

Flyering for your own solo show at midnight can be a lonely experience, I don’t think anyone would be surprised to hear.  Thankfully for me I have the antidote in that each time I am in Edinburgh I am performing as part of ComedySportz, a competitive improvised comedy show, with an entire troupe of my closest friends.  Unlike with stand up, here I am not on my own, and in fact have a number of people around me who have my back.  It does make all the difference.

With ComedySportz in a lovely Edinburgh dungeon

This year I only came up for a few days with these guys, and whilst performing with ComedySportz I was otherwise not performing, but instead watching shows.  My girlfriend Sally came with me so I could attempt the tourist experience.  That has been a learning experience in itself.  Mostly in that I now know our comedy tastes are more divergent than I first thought, but that where they match, they match very well indeed.

Funz and Gamez with Phil Ellis and friends and the improvised musical Baby Wants Candy had me in absolute stitches, whilst Sally instead looked rather bemused.  But that’s fine.

Following the sad passing of Robin Williams I have spent time looking up clips of his stand up and, apart from a few exceptions, I have to admit I just don’t get it.  But many of my peers and comedians who I respect very much hold him up as a seminal genius.  Not enjoying his stuff personally does not take away from the impact and importance of this man, and my ability to appreciate what he did.  Oft repeated but entirely true, comedy is indeed subjective.

Whilst certain comedy shows didn't hit home for Sally as much as for me, we did both love Kerry Godliman’s Face Time, so that was a trend bucking relief.

Being a child #2 - yes, it was mostly whiskey

We also had a wonderful archetypal Fringe experience with the short play Post-it – Notes on a Marriage, by being the only two people in the audience.  A touching play about the fragility of loving relationships, this was a unique experience.  A significant credit of course to the actors for their solid performance in these unusual circumstances, especially with taking time to shake our hands immediately after their bow.

Sore feet, shabby digs, wet clothes and endless flyering.  The Edinburgh festival can be punishing but despite all that, like the City itself, it has such a beauty and appeal that as a performer is hard to resist.

Comedians are a bizarre and rare breed.  Whether the manic energy of Robin Williams, Phil Ellis arm wrestling an 8 year old, Mary Poppins getting Ebola (thanks to the audience suggestion the night I saw Baby Wants Candy), or being willing to perform an hour of solo stand up at 1am on a bus it’s fair to say that, with a genuine reverence for the term, you don’t have to be mad to work here, but it probably does help.

Getting in the saddle

The mad bastards

It’s an usual taboo, but one I must confess to.  I have managed to get in to my 30s without being able to ride a bike.

Apart from being toilet trained and learning how to walk, there are few expectations of an adult more universal than being able to ride a bike.  Even if you don’t have one it is expected that you could ride one if you choose.  After all, “you never forget”.

Of course, I did try to learn, and the important thing is that I was able to swerve to avoid the car, but my muscle memory involved in braking wasn’t quite there yet, so I hit a curb and flew over the handle bars.  One broken arm later and I gave up the idea of ever learning to ride a bike.

This is a concept I have been perfectly happy with, especially when in my twenties I learnt how to drive.  The car is a wonderful concept.  Unlike a bike it has a roof, a radio, and heating.  Added to that it is also entirely impossible to fall off the bloody thing!

However, times change.  I started a relationship at the end of last year with a wonderful woman who decides she wants the best for me.  Turns out, that includes getting me to ride a bike.  Despite my protestations, she was determined that she would teach me.

She had me riding up and down her street as she held my seat for balance.  An image immediately recognisable to all parents, made absurd by the fact that I’m not a child but instead a 6 foot tall man, with a bald head and a beard.  To add to the absurdity, I was learning using her bike, which is only a 16 inch frame.  The only way I could look more physically comical would have been by wearing clown shoes.  In this scenario she looked more like my carer than my girlfriend.

As it should be

And yet, with plenty of patience, she manages to get me cycling.  The thought of cycling on roads still worries me though.  Parks and pathways near her home have only the danger of social embarrassment.  Roads, with 4x4s, BMWs, and other assorted wankers present the very real threat of death!

My fear is in no way abated knowing that the only thing I have to warn drivers and other road users of any impending peril on my behalf is a tiny bell.  The sound it emits is less likely to make people think danger is afoot than to think their microwave meal is ready.  I’m thinking my head is about to be split open like a brick dropped on a cantaloupe melon from 20 foot, whilst around me people think their chicken Korma is ready.

But Sally finds a solution to this, by booking us in to the Manchester Sky Ride.  At this event certain road are closed off to provide a 12.5km route through the city centre just for cyclists.  Free from the worry of cars I am able to cycle along at my own pace with Sally alongside me through the city centre itself.

Passing The Etihad stadium (AKA the council house), Piccadilly station and the Town Hall I gain in confidence monumentally and start to really feel comfortable with my new bike, purchased merely days before the event.  It was a signal of commitment on my behalf to buy this bike, and one that has been justified because now, with a huge dollop of help from my better half, I now feel that I can say yes, of course I can ride a bike.

Ready for the Sky Ride

A funny old game?

Football is a bizarre hobby.  The commitment it evokes from its followers is as such that many fans would be wiping rage induced foam from their mouth just at my suggestion that it is a “hobby” at all.  For a significant number of people it is not just a hobby, but a way of life.  Legendary Liverpool manager Bill Shankley once said “Some people believe football is a matter of life and death, I am very disappointed with that attitude.  I can assure you, it is much, much more important than that.”

There is no form of entertainment like football.  Andrew Lloyd Webber fans don’t beat up Leonard Bernstein fans if they come across them in the West End, Coronation St has never started a riot, nobody has rearranged their wedding because it clashed with the release of the latest World of Warcraft game.  Popular music can be tribalist at times (think The Beatles v. The Stones, Mods v. Rockers, etc), but this often artificially created rivalry pales in significance to that of football.

Now, I like to consider myself a practical man.  Someone who is able to stand back and see the bigger picture, take a scientific approach.  Art though, has its own rules and yes, I am including sport as art.

Football is a mess of contradictions.  We pay high entrance fees and TV subscription rates to watch a bunch of millionaires, made wealthy from the money out of our pockets.  The footballers themselves are often not just wealthy, but vulgar with it.  Smashing up sports cars like they are toys, getting in to fights outside clubs, and sexually using and abusing women like disposable play things.

The lifestyle our financial contributions are helping to fund is often morally repugnant to even the most open minded of individuals.  Yet, it is amazing what football fans are willing to ignore.  Accusations of rape, racist abuse, and so much more are put to one side when cheering on your team.  Paolo Di Canio has just been announced as the new manager of Sunderland, and his history as a proud fascist has fuelled anger at this appointment.  And yet we all know that if he wins a few games whilst in charge, the vast majority of fans will forget all this.  In no way am I suggesting Sunderland fans are less morally or ethically sound than any other football fan, because this would be the outcome at any football club.

And yet, somehow, football has me.  Completely.

I have experienced football in two very different spheres.  On the one hand there is my first love in football, the most highly supported team in the world and, by the very nature of football, therefore the most hated as well: Manchester United.

This was bestowed by my family, as is often the case.  Unusually maybe, this inheritance was in no way forced, or even assumed.  As a child I hated all sport, as it seemed that it’s only reason for existing was for my Father to deny me the chance to watch cartoons on TV.  Sport just got in the way.  And yet, by the time I was 10, I felt like I might be missing out on something.  Perhaps these were the first stirrings of the adolescent need to conform.  I don’t remember.  I was 10!

So I adopted my Mothers team.  As it is from my Mothers side, there was never any pressure from within my family that this is something I had to do.  Nurturing and caring, my mother would never have pressured me in to doing anything I didn’t want to do.  My dad was neutral on the issue, as he has always insisted that he supports both City and United (to put this in to a historical context, imagine the effect of making a lovely cup of tea, and alternating between taking careful sips of it and then dipping your knackers in it).

So I decided I was going to like football, because it was just something you should do.  Like drinking beer, the taste at first may seem bitter, yet it gives way to intoxication.  That year United won the very first premiership trophy, their first league trophy in 26 years.  With such an excellent sense of timing, you can understand why I would eventually decide to become a comedian!

Of course it would be expected of many that I would support Manchester United due to where I was brought up in Manchester.  South Manchester.  Very south Manchester.  Ok... Dorset.

Eventually though the pull of my local team had its effect, and I eventually started to go and see AFC Bournemouth.  Many died-in-the-wool football fans will insist you should support your local team, but there genuinely was not a pull for me when I was growing up.  Existing in the third tier of league football, I didn’t know any friends at school who were Bournemouth fans.  I only went the first time because United legend Mark Hughes was playing for Southampton there in a friendly.  But that summer I started to go to every home match.  At the time I was just 16, and thanks to my first summer job I had the money and the independence for the first time to go to football by myself.

This was a very different kind of football to that seen at Old Trafford.  Up front was Steve Fletcher.  A striker who might score 10 goals a season if he played particularly well.  Used as a target man, if he didn’t win the ball in the air he would make sure he elbowed the defender instead.  A player with little finesse, skill, and certainly no pace.  Over time though I would come to accept that this man is a legend.  And I do mean that in the present tense because he still plays for Bournemouth now, at the age of 40 (Ryan Giggs eat your heart out!).

Such a legend, in fact, that one of the three stands at our ground, Dean Court, is named after him.  That’s right – three stands.  Any fans of rectangles out there will know that they invariably have four sides, and yet we only have three sides to our ground.  Three fully seated stands, and a car park.  This was not the world’s first “drive in” football ground as you may think.  No, we didn’t build a forth stand because we couldn’t afford to.

This is because Bournemouth has been paupers for years, a club constantly under threat of administration.  But now, as the universe has been engulfed by financial despair, the cosmos has been turned seemingly on its head because Bournemouth now has money.  In fact, we’re one of the highest invested in teams in the league which is, frankly, mad!

We have a strong squad and a great manager in Eddie Howe.  Maybe in the coming years 10,000s will flock to see the mighty Cherries, but for now at least we can still be assured of that “authentic” league football experience of flocking in our 100s to places like Bury.  Grounds so low in attendance that when you arrive you are not given a seat number, merely allowed entrance to an entire stand and told to “sit where you like”.  Compare that to trying to get tickets to Old Trafford, and you will understand what I mean when I say that I have experienced football at both ends of the spectrum.  Even then, whether it’s Old Trafford or Dean Court, and taking in to account all the myriad contradictions inherent in football, it is still a thrill to experience the beautiful game!

So I voted... what now?

Well, wasn't Sunday evening fun? Oh yes indeedy. Having to wait up until 2.30am until you finally get the result in that that odious "human" shit Griffin has been elected to the European parliament. Yep, that was certainly worth waiting up for. This of course means that even at 2.30am you can't sleep, so that you really feel great in the morning.

Even though I could have fallen asleep as soon as I got in from work later that day, I was still able to force myself to go to the demo in Picaddilly gardens. Despite the fact that it had only been called the day before there were many hundreds of people there. The crowd was young, angry. Through out the demo and the speakers you could feel the sense of urgency in this demo. People wanted to do something. The following day there was a organising meeting for Unite Against Fascism with about 100 in attendance. The numbers were so great that we struggled to get everyone in, even with people sat on the floor and window sills. "This movement is going to need a bigger room," I remarked to a friend.

The level of protest against Nick Griffin has not let up for a moment. He desperately wants to be seen as a normal, respectable politician, and he thinks that his election will do this for him. He is wrong. He is still the same Nazi scumbag he was before, and we're not going to let him forget it. Griffin has said himself that one of the most damaging things to his party is when people call him a Nazi. it so important that we do this as loudly and as publically as we can, because it doesn't come from the media who prefer meaningless terms like "far right," or understating terms like "racist."

To be fair to the media, recent times has seen as good a response against the BNP as I can ever remember seeing before. The Manchester Evening News has been excellent, carrying stories exposing them every day. The same with the Mirror. I even looked through the Sun today, and they carried stories saying what Britain would look like with the BNP in charge, including the picture of the England football team with the non white players blanked out.

I have heard complaints from some that the tactics of anti-fascists play into the hands of the Nazi's. This argument you hear time and again, but it simply isn't true. For whatever level of sympathy Griffin can gain for himself by saying he isn't being treated fairly, is nothing compared to the effect we have in refusing him the platform to appear like a normal politician. Normal politicians may occasionally get hit with an egg, but not every single day they make a public appearance!

And as Weyman Bennett said yesterday, you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs (If anyone wants to know how to make a Nazi omelette by the way, that's where you only use the egg whites).

Some say that by throwing eggs at him, the anti-fascists are showing themselves as being no better than they are. Pardon? Hmm... maybe I'm wrong. Were 6 million Jews egged by the Nazi's? Even Griffin wouldn't go that far, and he's a convicted Holocaust denier.

No, the fascists show themselves up as the thugs they are, an example being the protest outside Westminster where a woman protester was punched in the face and knocked to the ground by one of Griffins goons. This movement shows incredible discipline when facing the fascists. Did we beat Griffin up when he tried to get into Manchester town hall on Sunday? No, we just denied him the way in of the normal politician, and then he ran away.

They shall not pass, and we will stop them through the building of a mass movement.


And I'm not too scared about life in Britain right now. Fighting against the Nazi's should never be considered an automatic thing (how on earth did we let the scumbags get 55 councillors nationwide??), but we have a great movement to fight them. Also, the new series of Big Brother has been on but it was only today, and only once, that I've heard it being discussed.

And I've heard it might be cancelled because PEOPLE HAVE STOPPED WATCHING IT!! If this is true, and we have life without Big Brother, then I'm proud to British! Although we cannot stop fighting until Britain's got Talent is off the air as well! Brothers and Sisters, Unite!!

Seriously though, I can't be the only one sickened by this parading of deluded individuals, including the genuinely mentally ill. What the hell is going on? Voting in this country starts to resemble the 1930's, and our entertainment has gone back to the Victorian age!

Hey, you know what?... I feel a little better now. I've got such a level of confidence in the anti-fascist movement that I've been able to go back to pointless grumbling about what's on TV. Which is strangely comforting, it must be said.